One
There were few things more ridiculous than a rotund vicar attired in a woefully snug coat, his few strands of gray hair standing upon end, attempting to tiptoe through the silent vicarage.
Vicar Humbly was not exactly frightened of his large, commanding housekeeper, he silently assured himself. She had been his devoted servant for near forty years. But he had no desire to wrangle with her so early in the morning.
He had already endured a fortnight of her grumblings at his determination to travel to Kent. She simply could not be made to understand his restless need to assure himself that Victoria was safely settled in her new life with Lord Claredon.
Humbly grimaced as he made his way down the stairs. In truth, he scarcely understood his odd behavior himself.
It had all begun weeks ago when he had received letters from Addy, Beatrice, and Victoria on the same morning. At the time it had seemed almost a sign from above.
How many nights had he devoted to worrying about their plight? Even though he had consented to officiate at each of their marriages over the past year, he had been plagued with doubts. Not one of the poor maidens had married for love, or even friendship.
His conscience had deeply troubled him, and when he received the letters he had known he must act. How could he happily retire to his small cottage when he was beset with worry over the happiness of the maidens?
And a good thing he had done so, he acknowledged with a faintly smug smile.
First he had traveled to London to help Addy in her marriage to Adam, then onto Derbyshire to give Beatrice and Gabriel a nudge. There was no doubt each had been in desperate straits when he arrived, and no doubt that he had managed to soothe troubled waters and ensure they could look into their hearts to discover the love waiting to be found.
Ah yes, he had been rather remarkable in his role as Cupid, he congratulated himself. Quite astonishing really.
Then his smile faltered.
Victoria was bound to be even more difficult than either Addy or Beatrice. Unlike the other two women, she had not thought to wed her husband. Indeed, she had been on the point of a secret elopement with a Mr. Stice when she had been trapped in a compromising position with Lord Claredon.
The marriage had been a hasty affair, as unwelcome as it was unexpected. And Humbly had stumbled through the vows with a prickling horror that the lovely bride might blacken the eye of her mocking bridegroom long before he could ever reach the “I do.”
No, it would not be an easy task, he told himself with a faint sigh. Not easy at all.
“And just where do you think you are going?”
On the point of entering the foyer, Humbly reluctantly halted and turned to face the large, gray-haired servant who stood with her hands upon her hips. “Oh, Mrs. Stalwart,” he murmured, feeling as guilty as a lad with his hand caught in a freshly baked pie.
Pie.
His large stomach grumbled, reminding him he had forsaken breakfast in the hopes of avoiding this encounter. A great sacrifice, indeed.
“I suppose you are determined to leave for Kent,” she accused in tones dripping with disapproval.
“Yes, I did think that I might.”
“’Tis unnatural, I tell you. Unnatural.” The woman was swiftly off on her familiar tirade. “A gentleman of your advanced years should know better. First it was London and then Derbyshire, from where, I do not quibble to tell you, you came home appearing distinctly out of curl, and now it is Kent.”
“I assure you that this shall be my last journey.” He attempted to soothe the ruffled woman. “When I return I shall retire to my lovely cottage and never stir again.”
The housekeeper gave an insulting snort. “So you keep promising.”
“A promise I firmly intend to keep.” The vicar was able to comfort her with all honesty.
Dissatisfied, the woman angled toward a new path. “What could possibly be so important in Kent?”
“I wish to ensure that Victoria, or I suppose I should say Lady Claredon, is well and happy in her marriage.”
As expected, the older woman’s countenance hardened. Although she possessed a kind heart, Mrs. Stalwart was not above indulging in the frivolous gossip that floated from London. It had been a deep disappointment when she learned Victoria had been embroiled in a sordid scandal. “A most ramshackle affair.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” the vicar murmured.
“I always knew that Lord Claredon would tumble into a bad end. He might be considered all that is handsome and charming, but he is a shameless rapscallion.”
“Mrs. Stalwart.”
“It is nothing but the truth,” she plodded on, clearly laying the entire blame of the unfortunate incident upon the shoulders of the rakish Lord Claredon. “Do not try and pretend that you have not heard the whispers of his doings in London. It is said that he has a mistress for every night of the week.”
Humbly attempted to appear shocked even as a renegade glimmer of amusement entered his sherry eyes. He had, of course, heard the endless gossip that swirled about Lord Claredon. He would have to be cloistered in the vicarage not to have. But possessing more than a hint of intelligence, he had dismissed most of the outrageous stories as envious chatter. No gentleman could be so virile, nor possess the vast amount of time required to seduce the hordes of women attributed to him.
“Really, Mrs. Stalwart, you know better than to listen to such rubbish.”
“’Tis not rubbish,” she determinedly argued, refusing to be swayed from her patent disapproval. “The man has gone to a good deal of effort to earn his reputation.”
“Well, he has perhaps been a favorite among the ladies,” Humbly reluctantly conceded.
“He is a reprehensible rake.”
“No longer. He is now a married gentleman.”
Mrs. Stalwart gave a sorrowful shake of her head, not at all reassured by the fact Lord Claredon had at least wed Victoria rather than leaving her a ruined woman.
“It near breaks my heart to think of my poor Victoria being taken in by his practiced charm,” the housekeeper mourned, not fully aware of the tangled events that had led to Victoria and Lord Claredon being discovered together in the posting inn. “I had always thought her so sensible. Why, the way she took care of her younger sister after her parents’ death and kept the household in order . . . I was never more shocked than when she tumbled into that nasty scandal.”
Humbly’s heart was struck by a sharp pang. Poor Victoria. After all she had sacrificed, she truly deserved happiness. A happiness he was far from certain could be found with Lord Claredon. Still, he was determined to do what was in his power to help her find a measure of contentment.
“Now, Mrs. Stalwart, we do not wish to stir old coals,” he said firmly. “They are wed, and it is my fervent prayer that they have found a measure of peace.”
The housekeeper gave a grudging nod of her head. “Aye. It is only that Victoria has always been a favorite of mine. She was so very brave during her parents’ tragedy and then ensuring her sister was given everything a young girl could desire. It could not have been easy.”
“No.”
The older woman abruptly narrowed her gaze as she realized that she had been effectively distracted from her chastisement. “But I still do not understand the reason why you are traveling to Kent. Has Victoria requested your presence?”
Humbly cleared his throat. “Actually, I have decided to surprise her with a visit.”
“Why?”
“To reassure myself that she is happy.”
“Ha.” Mrs. Stalwart wagged a finger in the direction of his overly innocent face. “You are going to meddle.”
Humbly gave an offended sniff. “Certainly not.”
“Do not think you can fool me. I have known you far too long.”
He gave a rueful grimace. “I might nudge matters, if need be.”
“Lord have mercy.” The woman shook her head as if he were a hopeless trial upon her nerves. “I thought you wiser than to attempt to interfere between a husband and wife. There is nothing more foolish.”
Humbly colored with defensive annoyance. “I will have you know that I have had no small measure of success at playing Cupid.”
“Foolishness.”
Knowing it was a futile argument, Humbly turned to gather his hat and gloves from the nearby table. “In any event, I hope to return by the end of the month.”
Mrs. Stalwart crossed her arms over her considerable bosom. “And those books you have promised to pack before the new vicar arrives?”
He flashed his particularly sweet smile. “They will no doubt be awaiting me when I return.”
“Foolishness,” the housekeeper muttered.